Post by Deleted on Mar 30, 2011 8:07:32 GMT 10
Title: Mercy
Rating: PG
Word Count: 506
Pairing: Crane/Rosethorn
Round/Fight: 1/F
Summary: When pride keeps a relationship alive, it can be a blessing, or a curse.
Rosethorn did not expect to see that venerably uptight, annoyingly stiff former best friend of hers outside Discipline's gate, looking as lost as one of the twitterpated novices on their first day with classes.
Superficially, he was utterly composed and absolutely under control. Crane would never leave the Air Temple were he not immaculate and dressed in a shade of yellow that complimented his features -- in a way that made his frown seem thunderous, and pursed lips seem forever on the edge of a lofty barb. But... she thought he looked...
...What was she thinking? This was Crane, not Isas; she was Rosethorn, not Niva. And now that she was Earth and he Air, they never even spoke. They hadn't, really, for nearly eighteen months.
"Your tomatoes," Crane said. It took a moment for Rosethorn to realize he was speaking to her -- so lacking was his voice in familiarity, or the casual sarcasm that familiarity can breed. "They're growing well."
Rosethorn laid her gardening fork aside and wiped her hands briskly, leaving a shower of dirt on her habit. She didn't rise. She wouldn't, for him. "You would sound more convinced about that if there were other plants to compare mine with, wouldn't you?"
She hadn't meant it as a barb, but she wasn't surprised that he took it as one. Heated nights sharing a bed didn't equate to sharing a mind, but it seemed now that they had stopped, their words lost meaning, unless the meaning was the worst insult possible.
"My greenhouse is more than your, your--cabbage patch," he bit back.
It took exactly two seconds for Rosethorn to abandon any sense of civility and reply, "Said like a rich man who doesn't know what really matters."
She knew it hit him hard. She also knew she didn't regret it. Even argument could be a mercy now that it was compared to stifling silence, and she had never truly minded bickering in the past.
Crane blinked, perhaps as surprised as she felt, at the target she'd chosen once she decided to strike back. (Rosethorn had always known his sorest points and all his hidden weaknesses.)
But where Rosethorn held out a hand, Crane stepped back:
"You never change," he scoffed condescendingly, and that was true, because plants were earthy and cranes flighty, and only one person needed to move to scratch a line in the sand between them.
Crane's abrupt dismissal was as deep as a trench, dividing the past and future, the joy and strife they would never again share.
- : -
("Rose petal extract."
"Rosehip oil -- seven parts at least."
"Would you wager your apprenticeship on that?"
"I bet on whatever I like, Isas."
"Twenty-four hours then before we ask who was right."
"Don't spend it all in the library, Rich-boy!"
"I wasn't planning to," he said, hiding paper-cut hands, while she yawned and bit her lip to keep from grinning.)
- : -
And perhaps, that, too, was a sort of mercy, for two whose pride kept their rivalry alive.
QC by: journeycat
Rating: PG
Word Count: 506
Pairing: Crane/Rosethorn
Round/Fight: 1/F
Summary: When pride keeps a relationship alive, it can be a blessing, or a curse.
Rosethorn did not expect to see that venerably uptight, annoyingly stiff former best friend of hers outside Discipline's gate, looking as lost as one of the twitterpated novices on their first day with classes.
Superficially, he was utterly composed and absolutely under control. Crane would never leave the Air Temple were he not immaculate and dressed in a shade of yellow that complimented his features -- in a way that made his frown seem thunderous, and pursed lips seem forever on the edge of a lofty barb. But... she thought he looked...
...What was she thinking? This was Crane, not Isas; she was Rosethorn, not Niva. And now that she was Earth and he Air, they never even spoke. They hadn't, really, for nearly eighteen months.
"Your tomatoes," Crane said. It took a moment for Rosethorn to realize he was speaking to her -- so lacking was his voice in familiarity, or the casual sarcasm that familiarity can breed. "They're growing well."
Rosethorn laid her gardening fork aside and wiped her hands briskly, leaving a shower of dirt on her habit. She didn't rise. She wouldn't, for him. "You would sound more convinced about that if there were other plants to compare mine with, wouldn't you?"
She hadn't meant it as a barb, but she wasn't surprised that he took it as one. Heated nights sharing a bed didn't equate to sharing a mind, but it seemed now that they had stopped, their words lost meaning, unless the meaning was the worst insult possible.
"My greenhouse is more than your, your--cabbage patch," he bit back.
It took exactly two seconds for Rosethorn to abandon any sense of civility and reply, "Said like a rich man who doesn't know what really matters."
She knew it hit him hard. She also knew she didn't regret it. Even argument could be a mercy now that it was compared to stifling silence, and she had never truly minded bickering in the past.
Crane blinked, perhaps as surprised as she felt, at the target she'd chosen once she decided to strike back. (Rosethorn had always known his sorest points and all his hidden weaknesses.)
But where Rosethorn held out a hand, Crane stepped back:
"You never change," he scoffed condescendingly, and that was true, because plants were earthy and cranes flighty, and only one person needed to move to scratch a line in the sand between them.
Crane's abrupt dismissal was as deep as a trench, dividing the past and future, the joy and strife they would never again share.
- : -
("Rose petal extract."
"Rosehip oil -- seven parts at least."
"Would you wager your apprenticeship on that?"
"I bet on whatever I like, Isas."
"Twenty-four hours then before we ask who was right."
"Don't spend it all in the library, Rich-boy!"
"I wasn't planning to," he said, hiding paper-cut hands, while she yawned and bit her lip to keep from grinning.)
- : -
And perhaps, that, too, was a sort of mercy, for two whose pride kept their rivalry alive.
QC by: journeycat